Allure
by KissThis
Summary: February Fic-A-Day. Hermione's always coming in and out of people's lives - work pulls her away, and something about her pulls others after. An unidentifiable allure. Sirius/Remus/Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

**Completed:** 2/01/08 6:02 PM  
**Posted: **2/01/08 8:57 PM

_Title:_ Allure  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: R/M (for future sexual content)

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related. This story is for my fans.

_Pairing:_ Siremione – Sirius x Remus x Hermione

_A/N: _The introduction to February's fic-a-day extravaganza – _Allure_. A bit off my usual tact, this 29-part story follows the beginning of everyone's favorite ménage-a-trois, rather than coming in sometime in the middle.

Enjoy the love.

* * *

"Hello-hello!"

When there was no immediate answer, Hermione dropped her bags in the foyer and without stopping to investigate, crossed through the kitchen and out the back door. The sun was blinding and she raised a hand to shield her eyes as she called out. "Some welcome this is."

"_Hermione!_ You're back!"

Harry all but leapt from his broom to bound up the stairs and wrap her in a fierce hug, both laughing; best friends reunited after months of separation. She ruffled his sweaty bangs and let him pull her into the yard.

"How was Greece?"

Unlike Harry, Sirius hadn't gotten off his broom, and as they left the porch he dipped low enough to fly circles around them, showing off his old Quidditch prowess.

"_Romania_," she corrected, but not without a smile.

"You're burnt."

Hermione beamed at the lanky man who unfolded himself from the tree swing and approached the group with his hands in his pockets. "You've been neglecting your sunblock again."

"Hello, Remus." She hugged him fondly. "How've you been?"

"Just fine." He held the younger woman at arms' length, appraising her warmly. "How did the trip go?"

Her face lit up. "Finally got them to see reason," she said proudly. Restricting dragons' airspace – I mean, _honestly_..."

"Did you see Charlie there?" Harry asked, looking interested.

"That's how I knew you were here, actually," she said, turning out of Remus' hands. "He was seeing me off when an owl from Ginny arrived, _demanding _to know why he never visits," she was grinning widely at the memory. "She mentioned you were here."

Harry's face took on the color of a ripe tomato, a reaction that had nothing to do with the balmy June heat. "D-Did she?"

Sirius barked with laughter and clapped his godson on the back, only smirking when Hermione tutted disapprovingly. "Yes, and we're all long past due at the Weasley's for supper," she reprimanded. "You two go and get cleaned up, while Remus and I floo Molly and let her know we're coming."

The years hadn't made Hermione Granger any less bossy and before anyone could think to contradict her, she'd bounded up the porch stairs and slipped into the kitchen. Sirius turned to make a sly quip to Remus but was surprised to find that the werewolf had already followed her inside.


	2. Chapter 2

_Title:_ Allure  
_Author:_ KissThis

_Rating_: R/M (for future sexual content)  
_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related. This story is for my fans.  
_Pairing:_ Siremione – Sirius x Remus x Hermione

_A/N: _I forgot to mention this for those who didn't hear about the beginnings of this – this will be updated everyday and as such it's more along the lines of 100-word prompts; though, as you all know I'm utterly incapable of cutting anything down to 100 words. So these entries will range anywhere from 500-1,000 words. They are meant to be brief so be prepared for jumps in time.

Enjoy the love.

* * *

Hermione's head was filled with a month's-worth of stories and exotic adventures, and though she was likely to burst for want of sharing them, she was equally happy to let the warmth and bustle of the Burrow overwhelm her. Weasley dinners were never a quiet affair and coupled with Hermione's return the festivities lasted long into the evening.

As per tradition, Hermione gifted the entire family with mementos from her trip – a charmed necklace for Ginny, rare ingredients for the twins. She was thanked profusely by all and sternly chastised for spending so much money by Mrs. Weasley – who'd been brought to tears by the bundle of fine Romanian wool and rushed off to begin work on the annual Weasley sweaters. In truth, one of Hermione's greatest joys in traveling was searching out souvenirs for her friends and family – pretty soon they'd have something from every continent.

Hermione's job was her life

Shortly after completing her final year at Hogwarts, she'd joined Harry and Ron at the Ministry being rebuilt under guidance of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Weary of fighting, she chose to continue her efforts towards the fair and ethical treatment of magical creatures, rather than enlist with the Aurors as her friends had done.

Five years later, she was Deputy Chief of the department and sitting on the back steps of the Burrow enjoying a pleasant rest after another long campaign. That's where Remus found her a quarter after ten.

"Lovely night."

She smiled up at him, accepting the glass of lemonade he offered and sipping it gratefully. The cool liquid soothed her dry mouth and the icy glass was refreshing against her forehead. "Thank you."

He sat down next to her on the steps and stretched out his legs. She still wore the faded blue jeans and white t-shirt she'd been wearing when she'd shown up at Grimmauld Place, out of the blue and four weeks after they'd seen her last. In all the years he'd known her, she'd always dressed rather plain – finding no logic in Ginny's make-up Charms or Witch Weekly's latest fashions. Even now she'd kicked off her trainers and rolled up her jeans so she could dig her toes into the cool grass. In fact, the only adornment she wore was a rather pretty turquoise scarf he surmised she'd gotten in Romania. It held back her ever-bushy hair that even now was turning wild in the humidity, and the golden thread shot throughout drew in the flickering porch light.

Sitting next to her, he could forget that his own jeans were worn, that his shirt was patched. Hermione never seemed to notice.

The ice clinked in her glass as she took another drink. "Romania's _horrid_ at night," she confided.

"The heat?"

"The mosquitoes."

Remus laughed and the sound of it floated out over the yard. "The great Hermione Granger – thwarted by mere bugs? I don't believe it."

"Oh hush," she grumbled. "I know you've only come out here to pester me for your gift, but I don't think I'll give it to you after all."

Remus's smile faltered momentarily, then gave way to a look of innocence. "Gift? What gift?"

Hermione wasn't fooled for a moment, and opened her mouth to tell him so.

"It's a book."

Remus nearly jumped out of his skin, but Hermione was already arguing with the man who'd walked up from the lake. "—how would you know," she was demanding, looking defensive in a way that made it painfully clear the gift in question was, in fact, a book.

"It's _always_ a book." Sirius drawled and sat down between them, squeezing himself into the small gap until Remus obligingly shifted over. "If he weren't Remus, I'd say he'd be sick of books."

A small, neatly wrapped package hit him square in the nose.

He seemed less concerned that Hermione had thrown it at him, and more interested in the fact that it was a present. He shot her a wicked grin and Hermione, who'd been scowling hard enough to burn a hole in his head, couldn't help but give a begrudging sort of shrug, infected by his sheer excitement. "Yes. It's a _gift_ – not that you deserve one the way you behave," she confirmed with a haughty sniff.

Sirius tore open the wrapping and a pair of dragon-hide gloves fell into his lap. They were thin and plated with black scales that shone like prisms when he lifted them to the light – perfect for his motorcycle.

"There are these women – near the dragon sanctuary – and they come around when the dragons are shedding their old scales – the molting period – and then they—"

"_Brilliant_," Sirius exclaimed, not listening. "Did your boyfriend help pick them out?"

Hermione's cheeks, burnt as they were by sun, turned a little more pink. "I don't have time for that sort of thing," she stated primly.

She stood rather suddenly, nearly upsetting her glass before Sirius grabbed it. "I should help Molly clean up." The porch door squeaked loudly as she disappeared back inside.

Sirius frowned at the door, mildly puzzled at her sudden change in attitude, and was about to ask Remus about it when a flash of gold caught his eye. A small rectangular package was lying on the porch, half-hidden by the railing, perfectly wrapped in gold paper and adorned with a white bow.

"Oi! She left this behind." He scooped it up, caught sight of Remus' name in Hermione's distinctive script, and handed it to his companion.

Remus set aside his lemonade and took the gift in his hands. Sirius watched him out of the corner of his eye, turning that gold parcel over and over, as Sirius fidgeted with his new riding gloves.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. "Aren't you gonna open it? See what it is?"

Remus' head tilted softly up, his amber eyes catching the porch light. He smiled faintly and shook his head.

"It's just a book."


	3. Chapter 3

Since walking out of the veil three years ago – and consequently scaring the piss out of the attending Unspeakable – Sirius had come to expect certain things out of life; an odd change from the chaos of his rebellious youth.

He expected to dine at the Weasleys' every Sunday, despite knowing he and Molly would inevitably get into a heated row, in a routine as cemented as the daily delivery of the Prophet. He fully expected Harry to be incurably lost in the manners of love, and for his beloved motorbike to always be a reassuring escape. He was always ready for the twins' latest attempt to out-prank him, and he _always_ knew Remus would be waiting for him when he came home.

In Hogwarts, he was used to everything happening at once – a coalescence of mayhem, that was as unpredictable as it was exhilarating; in Azkaban, there was a maddening, suffocating absence of _everything_ – a nothingness that could make a man lay down and never get up.

Now, things happened as they ought to; deviation was simply unacceptable.

Sirius expected many things. For example, it was an unspoken fact that when Hermione returned from her latest elf-hugging campaign, she stayed at Grimmauld Place. Remus would wake to the smell of chocolate and when Sirius stirred it was to his lover crawling back in beside him – a plate of pancakes for them to share. _Extra_ chocolate chips.

So when Sirius woke at half past nine to the sun screaming in through the window and Remus snoring beside him, he was understandably annoyed. "Where is Hermione?" The question irked him further as it was spoken out loud and he raised his voice. "_Where_ is Hermione?"

Remus woke groggily and frowned, bleary-eyed at his fuming lover. "Nnggh?"

"_No pancakes_," Sirius snapped.

The werewolf pushed himself upright and sniffed at the air. "No," he confirmed. Remus shrugged. "She must have stayed at Harry's."

"Why the hell would she do that?"

Those molten amber eyes turned on him and not for the first time, Sirius was aware of just how easily Remus could see straight through him as though his inner workings were pinned to his chest like a medal. He glared back, his morning irrevocably ruined by the disrupted routine, and hardly in the mood for a dissection of his neuroticisms. Remus surprised him by smiling.

Sirius knew it instantly to be the enigmatic smile that meant its owner knew something he didn't.

"Maybe if you didn't take pancakes for granted—"

"I say thank you all the time," he snapped and was rewarded with a look. "Okay, _once_..."

Remus kissed him; smiling against his scowl. "You're such an ass, Padfoot."


	4. Chapter 4

It was a full two days before they saw her again; though, Harry confirmed she had spent the first night out with he and Ron, and judging by the amount of baked goods and fresh casseroles now cooling on the sill, she'd spent the second at the Burrow.

She was curled up at the kitchen table when the pair came down for breakfast, wrapped in an afghan from the den and nursing a cup of tea. Tucked in against her chest was a well worn paperback, most likely muggle. Upon hearing them enter, she marked her place with a ribbon and smiled.

"Morning."

"Good Morning, Hermione." Remus took the muffin she offered, while Sirius blew past them both, heading for the icebox. Both brunets twisted in their seats to watch the dark-haired man slam through cabinets and drawers with undirected violence.

**bangbangbang! **until he found the jam. Then, grabbing some toast, he flounced into the seat next to Remus with the grace of a third year Hufflepuff.

"Have I done something wrong?" Hermione asked, cautious of Sirius' foul mood.

"No," Remus assured her.

"_Yes._"

He elbowed Sirius in the stomach, fixing him with a stern look before turning back to a quizzical Hermione. "_No_," he repeated, smiling genially.

Sirius took an overlarge bite of his toast and snapped open the Prophet, muttering another 'yes' under his breath; though, it was so unintelligible through a mouthful of food that only Remus caught it. Hermione, who'd been looking between the two like they were a very interesting tennis match, shook off their strange behavior and allowed herself to smile.

"I know I'm a horrible inconvenience," she said. "I really ought to get my own place – even if I am always gone..."

"Don't be ridiculous," barked Sirius, who'd yet to reappear from behind the paper.

Remus sighed, and placed a comforting hand over Hermione's. "What Sirius _means_ to say, is that you're always more than welcome to stay here. The house is large and empty, with only two old men to fill it."

"That's kind of you to say," she said and took back her hand to grab a scone. "At any rate, I've been called out to Germany – they've a centaur there being held for a crime without any sort of council; utterly barbaric!"

"_Germany?_" Remus looked shocked; even Sirius had turned down the pages to look at her. "When?"

"Tomorrow," she said, biting into her breakfast.

"So soon?" asked Remus in alarm.

"Mhmm." She wiped the crumbs from her mouth, and started to clean up. "I've got to run into the Ministry to fill out some paperwork – make sure my officers have enough to keep them busy while I'm gone."

Remus stood. "I'll come with you. Minerva has some things for Kingsley I ought to deliver."

Hermione beamed. "Alright." Scooping up her book and tucking the blanket around her shoulders she slipped out of the kitchen, leaving the two men behind at the table.

Sirius dropped the paper onto the floor and pushed back his chair. Remus fidgeted with his cardigan and then folded his arms over his chest; he didn't look at him.

"Remus..."

"Don't."

Sirius' dark eyes fixed on him; confused, wary. "I don't know what—"

"It's nothing. I have to go," Remus rushed.. A quick kiss and he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Remus liked his privacy, but he dreaded being alone.

He enjoyed the peaceful life he'd made for himself after the war – here, with Sirius. Grimmauld Place wasn't so bad once he and McGonagall got Mrs. Black's portrait off the wall and binned the mounted heads of the family's house elves.

At the very least, it was _quieter_.

Harry had given him the house and then moved out on his own, leaving Remus with Hermione's infrequent company. They had become friends over the years – slowly, as Hermione struggled to overcome her natural deference towards professors – and so when she'd appeared on his doorstep, flush-faced and bright-eyed announcing her graduation and subsequent acceptance in the Ministry, he'd offered her a place to stay.

It never crossed his mind that his privacy would be jeopardized by her presence, for Hermione had a way of filling up a room without making you aware of it. She was bright and charming – funny too, when she felt comfortable – and also sharp-tongued and headstrong. He quickly got used to the warmth and vitality she brought to the large house.

Six months later she was in Bolivia.

Grimmauld Place was anything but small, and with Hermione using her room about as often as Harry visited, Remus might as well have been its only tenant. So, when Sirius reappeared four and half years after falling into the veil, there was more than enough room for the new arrival. They'd picked up exactly where they left off and though the years had changed them it didn't matter much; they would always belong to each other.

It was easy to fall back into their old patterns and routines, easy to remember favorite foods and sensitive spots. They finally had the time to love one another and they fully intended to use it, despite regrets that they were twenty years older than they should have been. His Padfoot was back and Remus couldn't be happier.

Then Hermione returned from three months abroad in America. She'd heard of Sirius' return and had come back as soon as she could to welcome him; talk turned to bickering, which became yelling and at some point in the argument Sirius' made a caustic remark towards her honor and she'd disapparated. She suffered his company only one day more before running off to Sweden, her excuse: to give Remus more time alone with his newly returned partner.

Seeing her again – even for less than forty-eight hours – tore a hole in the world he'd fallen into upon Sirius' return from the dead. The world in which he had lived with Hermione – coming, going, books, warmth – now ran smack into the one in which he lived with Sirius – constant, hard, sex, heat – and he didn't know how to make them mesh together.

Since that first night, Sirius had entered into a tumultuous friendship with the younger woman, bridged by her infrequent visits; some times they were snapping at one another for days, and others Remus would find them sitting together on the tree swing, laughing at words he could never make out.

Each time she came back, he was jolted awake, as if from sleep; something about her pulling him from his comfortable world. And he didn't know why.

Sirius was too observant, too well-versed in the world's day-to-day routines not to get suspicious of what he was sure seemed to be odd-behavior on his part. He'd have to be careful not to show how flustered her sudden arrivals made him, or let his over-anxious mind analyze the phenomenon too closely. He couldn't let his own irrationality overstep the delicate boundaries the three of them had established; one inadvertent action and the house of cards would fall.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione slipped out in the middle of the night.

It wasn't the first time she'd done so; often disappearing whilst he and Remus were out walking or whenever those who would notice were looking the other way. Sirius had been moderately offended until he'd cornered her skulking through the bushes under his window two years ago and verbally berated her on the darkened porch until she explained it was easier that way – avoided unnecessary goodbyes.

And really, he couldn't fault her logic. She was in and out of London every other week – a round of hugs and weighty goodbyes each time would definitely get, well...he said annoying, she said _taxing_. So she left without a word. To be honest, Sirius rather liked that about her, how it was so very much in her character. It made sense, saved time, and she did it all without asking for approval, believing her own judgment to be best.

He hadn't seen her pack her bags, but then again she did always travel light and he'd spent a great deal of yesterday tinkering with his motorbike – an escape as well as a way to dispel change-related frustrations – until dinner when the trio had retired to the den. Routine.

He'd just decided to floo Harry for a game of Quidditch., when a dark owl flew in through the open window – a large parcel clutched in its talons. It looked a bit foreign, so Sirius wasn't surprised when it accepted his offer to rest and hopped onto the kitchen table.

Unsurprisingly, the package was for Hermione. What Sirius didn't expect, however, was for the return address to be Romania; for the sender to be _Charlie Weasley_.

She'd only been back in London for four days, what on earth was so pressing that he would have owled her immediately after her departure – not even a letter, but a _package_. He was no stickler for logic like Moony, or even Hermione, but he knew that this made no sense. It was odd – and if it had been earlier in the morning he'd have called it bizarre.

He hadn't seen Charlie for a long while, as the second oldest Weasley was hard-pressed to leave his dragon sanctuary, but he knew the man's general character and had been there when he was born – which, when he thought about it made him feel about as ancient as old Dumbledore.. He knew Charlie to be pleasant, but fairly reclusive. Molly often complained she'd never see grandkids from him and wondered when he'd write to her of new acquaintances rather than dragons.

Hermione hadn't mentioned Charlie beyond telling Harry of her departure and Ginny's letter, so he was forced to wonder what had compelled the reserved dragon tamer, who never wrote more than one letter home each year, to break with his normal routine and owl Hermione not four days after they'd parted ways. If Sirius had learned one thing since his return to the living, it was that all people were – inherently – creatures of habit.

It was easier for a man to hold to the patterns and actions that were familiar to him, than to step outside his comfort level every second of the day – that's why routines existed. Sirius could learn a great deal about a person by taking careful note of their patterns, but that was a surface reading only. It was when someone acted in a way completely contrary to their nature, when they deviated from their habits that he got a glimpse of the full depth of their character.

And what a deviation this was.

In fact, he could only come up with _one_ explanation that would account for it.

He routed through the kitchen drawers until he found an old paring knife, testing the sharpness of the blade against his finger. Leaning back against the counter, he pulled off the parcel's twine wrappings and made a quick, clean slice across the seam. The thin brown paper crinkled as he parted it, and then a pile of red silk slipped into his hands.

How interesting...


	7. Chapter 7

The room was stifling.

Humid air circled in through the open window, pooling above the writhing bodies in a stagnant cloud of oppressive heat. The sheets had been kicked to the end of the bed – white cotton slicked with sweat – and still they moved together; mouths gasping for cool air and skin on fire.

The very air they breathed was rich with the taste of sweat.

**BANG!**

Sirius groaned, fingers digging into his lover's hip. Sweat dripped from his bangs and Remus shoved them roughly back, his brilliant golden eyes rolling back.

**SLAM!**

Bronze skin pressed flush against ivory and the sheen of their sex-slicked bodies caught the summer sun and made them glow. A long sigh and then Remus' soft, husky chuckle.

**THUMP!**

"Hermione's back..." Sirius murmured.

"Maybe," conceded Remus. "It's only been three days."

The darker of the two pushed back onto his knees, dragging his long hair off his neck and reaching for a cigarette. In a sly maneuver, Remus slipped his hands into Sirius' and stole away the small silver lighter, sliding his other hand up around his neck to pull him back down. Sirius smirked, rolling the cig to the side of his mouth, and letting himself be drawn in for a sloppy kiss to the corner of his lips. "We should go down...see what the fuss is."

Remus' grip intensified, a fresh need sparking in his eyes. He whispered,"_Stay_."

Sirius' brow furrowed and he frowned slightly. "Did I _actually_ shag you silly?"

His half-hearted chuckle didn't alter Remus' forlorn look. But the lycan let Sirius slip the lighter back out of his hand, before turning onto his stomach and resting his chin on his hands. The sweet smell of cloves permeated the room as Sirius lit up and with eyes closed, Remus listened to the sound of Sirius shuffling about the room, getting dressed.

The scent of him grew and Remus sensed him bending over him before he even spoke. "Are you coming, luv?"

He turned his face into the pillow. "I'll...be down in a minute."

* * *

Sirius padded down the stairs in his bare feet, pajama bottoms slung low around his hips and nearly collided with the harried witch. She was still in her coat, the long trench flapping around her legs as she ran from room to room. Leaning against the stair's twisted banister, he watched her rush back and forth for a few minutes before speaking up.

"Welcome back."

"I can't stay," she all but yelled as she thundered past. Her anger was palpable, but since he hadn't done anything _lately_ to piss her off, he could safely assume it wasn't directed at him. "_Philistines!_"

He smirked. "Problems at work, Brown-Eyes?"

"Not if I can help it – and don't smoke in the house." She yanked the half-smoked cig out of his mouth as she passed and threw it in nearby plant, much to his amusement. "The Germans expedited Balfour to Czechoslovakia while I was in the middle of negotiations and decided _not_ to tell me!"

"Balfour?"

"The _centaur_," she exclaimed in exasperation. She shook a heavy book at him, hair flying wildly about her head. "I had to find out from a _desk clerk_ – they were stalling I just know it!"

"Is that a Czech dictionary?" He asked, more interested in what she was packing than in what she was saying.

"Yes," she huffed.

"I have a Czech—"

"No, _I_ have a Czech dictionary, because _I_ speak Czech. And I need to do so perfectly if I'm ever to get the Czechoslovakian Ministry to release Balfour."

"Wait. You speak—"

"Oh for heaven's sake!"

She stomped off again, after throwing up her hands in frustration, and he followed her into the den. He heard her muttering under her breath as she hunted for parchment and ink, overturning quill holders and toppling stacks of mail in her frenzied search. He heard "complete disaster" and fought not to laugh.

"You got some mail while you were gone," he told her; his nonchalance an odd contrast to her disarray as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

"Not now Sirius."

Watching her carefully he said, "It's from Charlie."

"That's nice," she murmured. "_Where's that damn list?_"

Surprised, but no less determined to draw a reaction from her, Sirius bent around her to pull open the bottom drawer of the desk, within which all the hanging files had been shoved back to accommodate Charlie's package. He pulled out the lumpy delivery and thrust it into her hands before she could open her mouth to ask what he was doing.

Hermione took in the scrawled address and the obviously rewrapped parcel before turning those fierce brown eyes on Sirius and this time her anger was _definitely_ directed at him.

"You _opened_ my mail?" Her voice was low enough, but the tone behind it was anything but friendly.

Sirius shrugged. "I was curious."

"You're...you're _impossible!_" She seethed. Her eyes were burning and a red flush was creeping up her neck. "This is my private correspondence – you had no right!"

"It's a _blouse_."

"And you're an ass," she stuffed the entire parcel into her rucksack and left the room.

Sirius; however, wasn't about to let her go so easily, and with so much left unsaid. He caught her in the foyer, a strong hand on her elbow yanking her to a stop. The change in her was immediate – she was no longer flushed and snapping, her face taking on an icy calm that meant she'd moved from merely flustered to well and truly pissed off.

"I have to go," she said, looking pointedly at his hand.

"Sorry, but I'm still curious, Brown-Eyes. Because that's a very interesting piece of mail—"

"I must have left it behind," she quipped. "I should thank him for returning it to me so quickly."

"Left it _where?_"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're driving at, but my personal life is none of your concern."

"What personal life?" he retorted. "The one you assured Remus you hadn't the time for?"

He smirked at her stubborn glare.

"What's going on?"

Hermione pulled free so quickly they both stumbled; Remus was standing at the head of the stairs, looking concerned. "Sirius? Hermione?" he ventured, when neither answered.

"It's nothing," Sirius snapped, feeling suddenly cross. "Hermione was just _leaving_."

Their eyes met and the disappointment reflected back at him was like a slap in the face. He'd expected disgust and anger – not this deep resignation, as if she'd expected something different out of him than what he'd shown her. The depth of her gaze drew him in and he only remembered where he was when she turned to go – neither answered Remus' question.

She'd rattled him with that look, to be sure, be he wasn't about to let her leave without sating his curiosity and before she'd reached the door, he grabbed her by the wrist, stepping right up against her, and bending low to her ear; his breath was hot against the side of her face.

"_Did you fuck him?_"

Hermione met his eyes again and this time it was pure anger burning back at him. She yanked the door open, slamming it against his side so suddenly that he let go without thinking.

Two steps and she was on the front stoop. A half-turn and she was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

_Dear Remus –  
__  
__I've been held up and will be extending my trip a few more days. _

– _Hermione_

"That's it?"

Remus handed him the letter and gave the last of his toast to the owl who'd delivered it. "That's it," he affirmed, moving to wash the mountain of dishes accumulating in the sink. Over the sound of running water, he heard Sirius flipping the parchment over, expecting some secret addition to be concealed on the back.

"This _can't_ be it."

"No?" Remus laughed. "Because she didn't mention you, or because you thought she'd have continued your argument?"

"It wasn't an argument," corrected Sirius, tossing the letter aside.

"You're only saying that because _you _were in the wrong. _Again_." Remus shook his head, arms submerged to the elbows in hot, bubbly water. "Why must you always pick fights with her?"

"It's _not_ fighting. And I don't know." He started to stand, thinking he'd help dry the dishes, and then sat back down. That's what _Hermione_ did – him drying the dishes in her stead was tantamount to standing on a person's grave. "With you I'm exceedingly charming and good-natured."

His lover snorted. "Hardly. But the make-up sex _is_ fantastic. You'll just have to try and be nicer to Hermione."

His response was a derisive snort.

If he looked hard enough, Sirius could just make out a faint vision of Hermione standing close to the counter in her favorite jeans. Her hair was down and it ran wild over her shoulders while she worked diligently to dry and stack the dishes Remus was washing by hand. She scratched at her ankle and shook back her sleeves with her usual carefree grace, all of it so real that he half-expected Remus to turn and say something to her.

But with that thought the image soured. "You're _nice_ enough for the both of us," he muttered under his breath. A dish clinked loudly against the sink and Hermione shook her head at him before vanishing.

"E-Excuse me?" Remus stammered, covering his flustered reply by scrubbing with increased vigor.

Interesting.

Sirius frowned. "I was just thinking maybe you'd forgotten how young she was—" another loud clank of porcelain and he quickly added: "—I mean, what with how mature she acts."

Water was close to sloshing out of the sink as Remus worked hard at a pot, a tension in his shoulders that Sirius attributed to more than just a fervent attack against grease. "You're one to talk," the brunet retorted, hotly. "You treat her like _child_ -- she may be Harry's friend, but she doesn't need you acting like her Godfather, Sirius."

Even as Remus spoke the words, Sirius was overtaken by an image of her so intense and so unexpected that he nearly fell off his chair. He watched her smooth skin glowing ocher in the light of a dozen lanterns, that red blouse slipping from her breasts as she threw back her head in ecstasy. It was then that the most alluring half-sigh escaped her parted lips – it hung suspended in the air, now heavy with sex. He watched her undulating above Charlie Weasley in that tent a thousand miles away and was made _very_ much aware of how un-childlike she was.

* * *

Thirteen days later Hermione still hadn't returned. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was the end of July when Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place.

Remus wouldn't even have known if he hadn't just been coming back from the loo when she came sneaking up the stairs in the dark. More than three weeks of not seeing her and a dozen unanswered letters and then suddenly there she was. Her scent was unmistakable; it was the dead of night but he could have picked her out blindfolded.

"Hermione?"

Her shadow stiffened on the stairs. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I was already up," he said, his voice light. His eyes were adjusting quickly after the glare of the bathroom light and he could see that she hadn't moved any closer; though, she'd dropped her bags. "I'm just surprised is all. You never...never answered my letters. Not one..."

It sounded pathetic – even to his ears.

"I was busy." And then: "Excuse me, I have to shower."

Remus managed an "alright" before she brushed past him and slipped into the loo. The door slid home with a rather loud **thump!** and he heard the lock immediately click into place. He had a scant few seconds to acknowledge her rebuff before he caught her scent again – closer this time, as the air settled back down around him, and with it came a different smell all together.

Earth.

Musk.

_Blood_.

He whirled on the door, but the shower was already going. Slamming the wall in his frustration he crossed the hall and threw open his bedroom door, waking a very irate Sirius.

"Sirius! Hermione's back – I think something's wrong."

"What the—"

**BANG!**

Sirius sat bolt upright in bed; his hair tousled but his eyes wide awake. "Was that the front door?"

"HERMIONE!"

They exchanged a look and even as Sirius was throwing back the sheets, Remus was turning back into the hallway. The stairs thundered with running footsteps and then _Harry_ appeared, looking absolutely furious.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

Remus pointed automatically to the bathroom door and no sooner than he'd done so, it was blasted off its hinges – Harry's power flexing wildly under the loosened controls of his temper. Hermione shrieked as the door fell in, but Harry walked in without hesitation. Remus felt Sirius come up beside him, but neither of them were prepared for the door to slam back into place and for Harry to start screaming at his best friend.

They listened as best they could, but both of them were yelling over one another and one must have thrown up a rudimentary silencing spell because their voices kept cutting out, like static on a radio.

"---HELD UP IS NOT FINISHING YOUR PAPERWORK, _THIS_—"

"—Y STOP YELLING AT—"

"—HAD TO FIND OUT FROM-----RON'S A MESS!"

"---FINE!"

"YOU---HELD _HOSTAGE!_"

The door slammed open and Hermione came stumbling out, a towel tied around her and wet hair clinging to her neck. Hot tears were streaming down her face.

"_Hostage?_" Sirius' voice came out cracked and hoarse with disbelief.

"_For once in your life_ _leave me alone!_" She ran past them both and disappeared down the hall.

They found Harry sitting in the wreckage, his head buried in his hands.


	10. Chapter 10

It was times like this that Hermione wished _desperately_ that she hadn't accepted Remus' offer – that she hadn't let his loneliness and their budding friendship sway her from getting a place of her own. As much as she wanted to avoid Sirius' probing questions, the hurt in Remus' eyes, she feared running to Harry's even more. Not because she feared his anger but because she knew that if she were to seek sanctuary there, both would insist they were in the right and the argument that followed would irrevocably harm their friendship. Better to wait until Harry cooled off and she found a way to avoid having that particular conversation.

Now she was little more than a prisoner in her own room – locking spells of her own casting serving as the bars of her deceptive cell. Her jailers were constantly walking by, alternately knocking and leaving plates of food outside her door. She even could have sworn that at times the footsteps just stopped outside her room, not resuming until much later like someone had been sitting in the hall all that time. She never answered their pleas for her to emerge, nor did she dare open the door and accept the food, though her stomach ached with hunger.

She tried to sleep but the heat was unbearable; tried to read but her mind refused to focus. It was a miracle when three o'clock rolled around and the entire house fell silent save for the distant chirp of crickets that floated through her open window. Sundays were always _their_ days.

They would leave the house at three – sometimes on foot, sometimes with both men astride Sirius' gleaming motorbike – and not return until dusk. Though Hermione had never asked where it was they went, not wishing to intrude on something so obviously personal, Remus had once told her it was the only time in which Sirius allowed himself a little spontaneity. So long as he had Remus from three to dusk, he was happy and that was all the routine he needed.

Despite yesterday's commotion, Sirius wouldn't miss Sunday afternoons for the world and Remus certainly wouldn't risk his lover's foul mood should he try and change their plans. Hermione would be safe to venture to the kitchen and finally feed her rumbling stomach.

At ten past three she removed the numerous locking charms, cancelled the privacy spells, and gently turned the lock. Her bedroom door swung noiselessly open. Cautiously, she stuck her head out into the sunlit hall and scanned the length of it, anxious, despite knowing no one could logically be in the house. Deeming it safe, she stepped over a bowl of porridge long gone cold and hurried to the stairs. She dodged the squeaky boards, skipped the sticky step, and tip-toed down without the aid of the twisted banister, which tended to groan in the humid air.

In the kitchen she found a fresh-made apple pie cooling on the windowsill and eagerly cut a large piece for herself. It was still steaming as she slid it onto a plate, but it smelled so divine she'd have eaten it if it was on fire. They were sure to notice, of course, and they'd be rightly riled that she'd snuck down while they were out, but as the first bite of pie burned its way down to her greedy stomach she found she didn't much mind.

Scooping another hardy bite into her mouth, she was headed to the icebox for some milk when something made her stop dead. Tucked onto the range's back-burner and previously unnoticed was a large black pot that even now was puffing out short bursts of savory-smelling steam from beneath its loose-fitted lid. Hermione swallowed hard and the burn in her stomach turned to lead.

She approached the range as a dying man would the gallows, and reached for the lid. A delicious stew was revealed, simmering innocuously on the range. It might as well have signed her death warrant. There was no reason for a dinner to be cooking on the stove – Remus and Sirius were never back before sundown, much less _dinner_ – which could only mean—

"Hermione?"

She jumped and the pot lid fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Remus was in the doorway.

She threw her plate onto the counter and made a run for the backdoor, only to backpedal in shock when Sirius walked in from the backyard.

"_Shit_."

"We made dinner," Remus said softly. "Are you hungry?"

Well and thoroughly trapped, Hermione backed into the cabinets and locked her arms over her chest, cross and still trying to recover from the sudden shock of seeing them. "It's Sunday – you shouldn't be here," she declared, her tone rather accusatory.

"We couldn't just leave." Sirius rolled his eyes, his own stand-offish posture a match for hers before he pushed off the doorframe and pulled out a chair for himself. He sat, but the look on his face told her she'd never make it out the door before he caught her. He cleared his throat and his eyes suddenly moved to anywhere but her. "We were worried."

Hermione scoffed. "Oh I _bet_ you were." She turned to Remus then, and there was no mistaking the sudden difference in her voice, the lightening of her tone and the softness that crept into her face. Sirius' frown deepened. "_Really._ I'm fine. You should go."

But Remus shook his head. "It was Sirius' idea to stay."

The look she gave the ex-convict was pure shock. Sirius took note of it and scowled. "Good to see you think so highly of me."

"_Padfoot._"

"I could say the same of you," Hermione retorted. And then she sat down, her eyes flashing with a challenge that Sirius returned with a nearly imperceptible nod, and Remus recovered quickly from his shock at her acquiescence and moved to join them. He'd just opened his mouth to speak when Hermione cut him off.

"Look. I don't know what you heard yesterday," she said briskly. "But Harry has a tendency to overreact and really it's all just a misunderstanding. We've already sorted it out."

"Really?" drawled Sirius, brandishing a letter. "Is that why he owled us this morning demanding to know the minute you left your bedroom?"

Hermione's neck flushed and though she'd never admit to being caught in a lie, it took her a second to respond. "Did he? I don't see why he chose to make our personal correspondence your concern, but no matter. I'll be leaving again soon, I'm sure – always work to be done – so I'll just pop in to see him when I get back."

She stood quickly, her chair scrapping on the floor. Before she'd even taken a step, Sirius had pulled another letter – thick and official looking – from the inside pocket of his waistcoat and held it out to her. "Maybe not as soon as you think. The Ministry's put you on paid administrative leave until they '_conclude the investigation into claims of abduction and holding hostage of a Ministry official with the intent to ransom and/or inflict bodily harm'_."

"W-What...?"

Hermione's hands were gripping the chair back with knuckle-whitening force, her mouth working without sound as she tried to find the words. Hermione Granger was _never_ at a loss for words. Remus leaned over the table and cautiously laid his hand over hers; his amber eyes searching her own. "Hermione? Did the centaurs hold you hostage – is that what happened?"

"I can't be fired," she whispered, suddenly white-faced.

Sirius regarded her with a dubious look. "You're not fired," he reminded her brusquely. He sought for the words to reassure her – to do what Moony would do. "Think of it as a vacation. A couple weeks without work – won't that be lovely?"

Hermione turned positively green. She uttered a choked "_oh god_" before her eyes rolled back and she fainted.


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: Bit of a technical difficulty last night. This is February 11th's entry, and the second half (today's) will be up later this evening._

* * *

Remus stifled a groan of pain and tried to shift over, but Hermione's body was dead weight in his arms. Both men had jumped from their seats to catch her, but even as Sirius' chair was clattering to the floor, Remus had thrown himself across the kitchen and cushioned her fall.

It was no small feat to lift her small frame and when he finally got his feet back under him, he stood and shifted her inert body so that his arms cradled her beneath her shoulders and knees. At a bit of a loss, he gently shook her. Her head rolled back, mouth open as though asleep.

Remus shot Sirius an exasperated look.

"Oh _well done_."

"Shut it."

* * *

"I was _not_ held hostage."

Hermione had recovered quickly once moved into the den, mostly due to being unceremoniously dropped onto the couch when Sirius, following close on Remus' heels, accidentally tripped his lover. The resulting quibble was hardly quiet (on Sirius' end) and after only being unconscious for a few minutes, Hermione awoke and promptly demanded to see the Ministry letter.

"The very _idea_," she fumed. "It's ridiculous!"

Remus stepped closer to speak and she automatically curled her legs under – clearing a space for him – so he took the unconscious offering and sat beside her. "Then tell us what really happened," he urged, half-tense in a way that Sirius knew to mean the lycan half expected her to bolt. Hermione, for her part had finished reading the letter and thrown it aside in disgust.

Hermione sat silent for a moment, most likely arranging her argument. When she chose, Hermione could speak with a silver tongue – her way with words as slippery and manipulative as any Slytherin could boast. Though he never did appreciate that particular skill turned against him, it caused Sirius no end of vindictive glee to hear her talk circles around Snape. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Sirius leaned back against the arm of an adjacent armchair, legs crossed at the ankle, and waited for her to speak.

Taking a deep breath, she began.

"I was not held hostage," she repeated. "I was _detained_."

"When Balfour was expedited without my knowledge, I worked as fast as I could to arrive before the Czech Ministry could act against him. They don't have the same laws regarding non-humans as we do – ironically enough, the British Ministry is regarded as rather liberal in these regards."

"That's a lark," Sirius muttered darkly, and Hermione knew he was thinking of Remus and the anti-werewolf laws.

"It took me a few days to get Balfour out of their holding cells, but I still needed to establish his alibi – that's when things went pear-shaped."

"Alibi?" Remus repeated, looking confused. "You're not an attorney, Hermione."

"I'm all they've got."


	12. Chapter 12

"I took all the precautions I deemed necessary, but..."

"But?"

Hermione's mouth pressed into a thin line. "The last agent from our division to try and _help_ the centaurs did so by insisting that their "brutish mentality and monstrous ways" deemed them too much of a hazard to even be negotiated with."

"You can't be serious!" exclaimed Remus. "What was he even doing in Magical Law Enforcement?"

"A remnant of Umbridge's pernicious power play. I fired him three years ago – but not before he'd done some serious damage," Hermione relayed with a tired sigh. She cleared her throat, looking as though she'd swallowed something bitter. "I'd thought time might have dulled the injuries done against them, but I, ah, _underestimated_ the strength of their feelings towards humans."

"No you didn't."

"Excuse me?"

Sirius pointed an accusing finger at her, saying, "You knew exactly what they'd do if a Ministry official walked into their forest – _and you did it anyway!_"

"I _had_ to!" She snapped back.

Once again it was up to Remus to mediate a brewing fight. "Sirius, _please_...let her finish."

But Hermione looked suddenly hesitant to speak. She'd had no problem up until now, no problem relaying the less-than-savory details of her latest mission, which could only mean that what came next in the story was something she knew not even her silver tongue could gloss over. Sirius' supposition was confirmed when her eyes drifted sidelong to Remus.

"Not much to tell," she said with forced levity. "They assumed I had come under pretense – another ill-seeking human; even believing that I had something to do with the charges against Balfour. They...surrounded me; requisitioned my belongings – I knew that I would have to abide there until I could prove my intentions otherwise – so I gave up my wand and went peacefully into their charge."

"Oh god," Remus whispered; Hermione winced as he looked away.

"Paint it anyway you like," barked Sirius. "You were _kidnapped_."

"They didn't hurt me—"

"What do you mean they didn't hurt you?!" He exploded, jumping to his feet with such sudden vehemence that Hermione actually shrunk back. "They're _centaurs_, Hermione. They are barbaric towards humans at the best of times – they almost attacked you seven years ago when you were just a child. And you just went into that? _Alone?_ What were you thinking?!"

Utter silence. Those brown eyes were once again filled with disappointment and Sirius couldn't understand why until she spoke – softly, so as to insure that he caught every word. "Would you be saying all this if it had been _werewolves_?"

Sirius froze.

"People think they're just beasts too – mindless killing machines. Would you demand to know if I'd been bitten?" Hermione was on her feet now; Sirius pinned to the spot by her steely gaze. Her voice dipped low, imparting dark words in a voice meant only for lover's whispers, and her next words caused the darkest of shadows to fill his face: "I hear they're very fond of young women."

Sirius swallowed hard as she stepped into him, overwhelming his senses with her smell, her feel, and the taste of her breath against his lips. "Would you, Sirius?" she asked, and standing this close, she sounded nearly breathless. "If I'd been _kidnapped_ by werewolves, would you stand here – in front of _Remus_ – accusing them of brutality? Would you ask if those 'monster's had _violated_ me? _If they fucked me_?"

Her eyes flashed as the last words left her lips, and Sirius knew. She hadn't forgotten and she hadn't forgiven.

"_Hermione_...please." Remus whispered, repeating himself when she didn't immediately break her fierce staring match with Sirius. When she finally looked back over her shoulder at him, Sirius – now free from scrutiny – quickly left the room.

Amber eyes met chocolate and Hermione ducked her head. "I'm sorry Remus," she said, her sincerity evident. "I just – this is exactly what I've been fighting against all my life."

"Sirius spoke rashly," the brunet agreed. "But only because he was worried about you. In his own way, Sirius was expressing that concern – and believe me, he'd be asking these same questions, making these same accusations if it had been wizards holding you captive for three weeks."

He stood and took her hands in his, a gentle squeeze causing a hesitant smile to light her face. He lifted they're joined hands to tweak her cheek and she laughed. Remus smilled too. "As long as you're okay."

"I am," she said. "_Really_. The centaurs were beyond civil. They even allowed me to send a letter home. I didn't say much because I didn't want to worry you."

He tsked her foolishness. "Don't think you can help that," he teased. "And then?"

Hermione sighed. "Must I?" she asked.

He relented to her plea. "Abridged version."

She laughed. "I cleared Balfour, made peace with the centaurs, and saved the day."

Remus tweaked her again for her cheek, but he couldn't help smiling; not with Hermione grinning up at him. "Good work, Miss Granger," he said. "That'll do for now."

"No more questions?"

"Just one more."

Hermione eyed him curiously and Remus had to bite at his lip to keep from laughing. "Do you think that pie's still warm?"

Her whole face light up in pure delight and when she threw herself into his arms, Remus' heart flipped hard inside his chest. _Merlin –what was he going to do…_


	13. Chapter 13

Note: Definitely had this done last night and just spaced on posting it.

* * *

Hermione was fine the first day.

And the second.

But by the third day of her administrative leave, she'd already cleaned the massive house from basement to attic, done all the shopping for the next two weeks, and finished all the runic translation puzzles Remus had clipped from the Prophet and saved for a rainy day. She returned from Flourish & Blotts with a man-high stack of books and locked herself in the study.

On the sixth day she ran out of books and attempted to return to the Ministry to do paperwork, only to be forcibly escorted from the building by Harry and another Auror.

Nine days into her forced vacation and she was officially driving Sirius mad.

* * *

"This can't just be because of work," insisted Sirius; though, by now Remus had grown fairly exasperated with his lover's grumblings. 

He handed the half-pinned Sirius the requested tool and turned back to the paper as his companion continued fiddling and clinking with the underside of his motorbike. "You're fond of imagining things," he murmured, falling back into the latest story of renovations in Diagon Alley. "And you underestimate how important Hermione's job is to her."

Another snort. "I'm pretty well aware of _that_." He sat up, wiping his oil-stained hands on an even dirtier rag. "I'm telling you it's more than just work."

Remus leaned over from his seat at the workbench and wiped a smudge from Sirius' aristocratic cheek, kissing the newly-cleaned skin there. "And what do you think it is?"

Sirius' long hair spilled over his shoulder like a curtain and when he looked through it to scrutinize Remus, he hoped it was enough to stop the lycan from noting the hesitation in his eyes. He turned back to the rag and continued working it over his hands. "I think she needs a shag."

He said it in such a way that it straddled the line between seriousness and dry humor, and then left it for Remus to decide which he'd rather it be – the truth, or a joke.

Silence.

Remus chuckled, but it sounded weak. "Why...uh, why would you think that?" he tripped over his tongue rather uncharacteristically and his overt attempt to lace his curiosity with indifference spoke volumes. _His_ Moony would have told him to stay out of her personal life while teasing him about volunteering for the job. _His_ Moony would have reminded him of "that one bird fourth year" and then "that other one during the hols". _This_ Remus...

He was totally in love with her.

The flippant smirk came so easily to his face, Sirius wondered if Remus would see right through it. He threw the rag at Remus, who caught it automatically, and hauled himself to his feet. "Because e_veryone_ needs a shag," he said and forced a bark of laughter. His heart flipped to see Remus' face instantly melt into a smile and he tried to shrug it off.

Remus reached out and caught the taller man by the belt. "Is that all you think of?" he asked, lips curving into a secret smile as he pulled Sirius close.

Sirius wondered how long that smile would be just for him.

"Maybe," he teased. Letting himself be pulled between Remus' parted legs, he silenced all the nagging voices in his head and focused on the coy touch of his friend and lover. The problem wouldn't go away, but he couldn't fix it right now and he didn't want to try. Instead, he slipped a hand under the hem of Remus' sweater so he could press his palm against the flesh of his hip.

"In the shed?" Remus whispered.

"Just don't hurt the bike."

Remus' husky laughter echoed out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

"Has Remus already left?"

Sirius nodded. "He flooed to Hogwarts about ten min—"

"_Damnit!_" Hermione stamped her foot and gave him a cross look, as if he were responsible.

Despite knowing it would only encourage her insanity, Sirius decided to take the bait and asked, "What did you need?"

"Doesn't matter now," she huffed. "You don't happen to know anything about the imperfect subjunctive tense of ancient Samarian runes, do you?"

Sirius blinked. "No..."

"Blast!"

He watched her storm back into the study, and while he truly wanted to turn around and floo Harry for a chat or a bit of Quidditch, something pulled him after her.

She was leaning over the desk, her nose inches from an old and dusty tome, quill flying over a scrap of parchment. Both her shorts and Ginny's old _Harpy_ tee were spotted with ink, but Hermione didn't seem to notice, much less care. How very like her.

He tipped up the book form under her nose to read the spine. "_Absolutely Untranslatable Runes_?" he said, eyebrow raised. "What are you doing with this paperweight?"

Hermione slammed the book back down, crushing his fingers in the process, and then glared at him when he had the audacity to yelp in pain. Tucking her wild hair behind her ear, she bent back over the book and marked her place – right hand groping for a fresh parchment. "I'm trying to stay busy," she quipped. "And you? – nothing in this house capable of capturing your interest that you must always bother me?"

"Do you always work runes dressed as a Knockturn witch?" he asked, without skipping a beat.

Hermione didn't even raise her eyes from her work. "Does it help your confidence to constantly make attacks on my virtue?"

"_What_ virtue..."

"You're too predictable, Sirius," she said. "You enjoy getting into other people's business and you're placing a great deal of significance on that blouse."

"What _blouse_..." he parroted.

Hermione threw down her quill and turned so suddenly that he had to step back, not having realized how close he had been standing to her as she bent over that book – shirt clinging to the curve of her back. Arms crossed under her chest (her usual stance of defiance), she locked eyes with him.

"What problem do you have with me?" she demanded; logically striving right to the point of things.

_Remus loves you_. He mirrored her pose. "I've no problem with you, Brown-Eyes. You must be mistaken."

She was – predictably – suspicious. "Then your brutish questions...?"

"To make out your character," he replied calmly. "I've made a hobby of studying people, you know."

"Your methods are questionable."

"So's your honor," and he stepped up against her, making her stumble against the desk; catching her off guard as she had done to him more than a week ago. Her hands slid out behind her, looking for purchase to steady herself, and a cup of quills tipped onto its side, spilling its feathered contents across the oak desk and onto the floor. To her credit, Hermione was never one to back down from a challenge; in fact, she glared straight up at him.

"Be careful, Sirius – your attitude savors rather strongly of _jealousy_," she hissed, a defiant tilt to her jaw. "But since you assure me otherwise, I can only have confused jealousy with curiosity."

"It's 'otherwise'," he affirmed, his voice low and gravelly.

"In that case, it seems my only choice is to assuage that _burning_ curiosity of yours," her lips curved upwards and Sirius, suddenly suspect, quickly searched for a twist in her logic. "Yes, I slept with Charlie Weasley in Romania."

Sirius stared at her. Then she rose up onto her toes and whispered, with her breath hot in his ear:

"_and it was bloody fantastic._"

An inkwell shattered and books toppled from the desk as Sirius grabbed her forcefully by the neck, smashing their lips together in a bruising kiss.


	15. Chapter 15

She whispered "_bedroom_" and then they were there, stumbling into the darkened room – the trip up the stairs a blur of fumbling hands and fervent kisses. She helped strip him of his clothes, a tricky task – his teeth buried in her shoulder and his mind fixed on pulling her to the bed – but she kept her pace and _he_ grew frustrated. His fingers tangled in her shirt and he pulled with such force that the hem tore.

She smiled enigmatically and managed to slip out of his hold. "Has your old age robbed you of your patience?" she murmured, stepping out of her shorts. Her methodical coolness irked him even more than her subtle jibs – only Granger would be this calm about sex.

"Are these all the wiles it took to snare a Weasley?"

She ignored his bitter comment – her goal was close as she approached the bed where he was kneeling. Waiting. "You talk too much."

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. "I would think that would---"

The words died on his lips.

Hermione had pulled her shirt up and over her head, but instead of smooth golden skin, his eyes were met with flesh that was warped and disfigured; her torso a canvas of scars.

She stood there and waited for his eyes to take in the whole of her deformity without comment. Not wanting Sirius to see the fear now thriving inside her, she kept her eyes carefully guarded and her face empty. She held her breath and time stood still – frozen under the weight of that one moment.

And when Sirius held out his hand, she merely took it.

Hermione let him pull her onto the bed, falling into his touch as he reached up and pulled back the length of her curls. His teeth grazed her collarbone, not gently – never gentle – but reassuring in its harshness. Hermione sighed, rising up on her knees to meet his hands.

Sirius traced the rippled burns across her ribs, waves of scarred tissue lapping at the underside of her breast. The red marks of dragon fire. "This is why you slept with Charlie," he whispered. Hermione wasn't surprised.

They always figured it out.

His fingers drifted to the purple, bruise-like mark across her hip; the faded reminder of a long-ago encounter with a grindylow. "And Krum."

She made no answer, no movement other than to rest her hands upon his shoulders. It didn't matter really; he already knew. A jagged scar, white and broad bisected her stomach – the killing swipe of a manticore's tail, intent on gutting her. Doubtless, Sirius remembered the story, and its true ending was now laid bare before him. "Finnegan?"

There were half a dozen more – some he couldn't place, others he didn't even try – they crawled along her sides like insects – eternal reminders of the very creatures she'd given her life to protect.

She knew when he'd reached the potion burns because his hand tightened like a vice on her hip. The pink star bursting across her inner thigh was the result of an overhasty attempt to cauterize a crippling wound; a frightened unicorn had charged her, its gilded horn slicing through flesh and muscle, rupturing her femoral artery.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, but his grip didn't loosen. He was so angry. "And...and _Sn—_"

She silenced him – her fingers against his mouth. "Not now, Sirius. Not now..."

He shifted on the bed, forcing her to twist as his palm covered the intricate brand freshly burned into her left shoulder. It was the mark of the centaurs. He didn't understand its meaning but now wasn't the time to tell him. For now it was just another scar.

"And now me."

"Don't pretend you care." She slipped from his hands like honey and lay back on the bed, her cream skin glowing in stark contrast to the brilliant blue of the sheets. She was perfectly at ease with her nakedness, her stiffness and fear now put to rest; maybe it was because of the hunger in Sirius' eyes, or the way he immediately shifted himself to straddle her full hips – there was no way to be certain. She rested her hands above her head, idly toying with her curls. "I picked you because I knew you wouldn't."

"You _picked _me?" Sirius snorted – the atmosphere that had been so thick about them a moment ago, thinning out and giving way to the natural order of things. "_I_ kissed _you_."

"Okay," she said without conceding anything and her smirk far from acquiescent. He leaned over and sunk his teeth into her neck, growling when she let out an airy laugh. Her scars were forgotten. "You think you've got me all figured out..."

Sirius knew he did. "You seem to think the same of me," he rasped against her throat; the smell of her was intoxicating.

"I do." Her confident reply came with a breathy hitch as Sirius slid his hand between her legs. The quiver in her bottom lip and the subtle fluttering of her lashes as she buried her hands in his hair brought a self-satisfied smirk to Sirius' face. Hermione frowned at his arrogance and the sharp tug she made at his hair instantly brought a scowl; his wrist made a sharp twist and she gasped.

Nerves tingling, she recovered enough to whisper. "You were _easy_."

He yanked her off the bed.

Pillows and sheets fell with her in a heap upon the floor. Her shoulder screamed with pain, but it was easy enough to ignore and she stood, her legs tangled in blue satin, and made to strike him, but he got to her first. He pushed her back, her feet stumbling and sliding backwards across the floor as he caught her by the wrists and pinned her to the far wall with a **thump!**

He kissed her. Hard. Tongues met and teeth clashed together, a moan catching in Hermione's throat as he pressed his full weight against her. They broke apart gasping for air.

"Did you expect _this_?" he growled, masculine pride in his challenge.

Hermione laughed – breathlessly. "_Yes_."

He kissed her again, anger mixing with lust, to form a kiss that left her lips aching and bruised. When his mouth released her, she licked her lips, testing the damage he'd left behind in his tantrum, and smiled; though, it felt as though doing so would cause her mouth to crack and bleed.

"You can't surprise me," she said. She strained her neck, leaning forward to kiss him.

"Remus loves you."

Hermione's eyes were fixed on his mouth, mere inches from her own, yet she stopped short and flicked her eyes to meet his. They softened, taking in the raw pain reflected there.

"I know."

He slammed her arms against the wall. "You're using me – just like all the others," he snarled. "Using me to bury your scars."

"And you're using me to get back at Remus."

He dropped her hands but he didn't move.

Slowly, Hermione shifted her body to glide her fingers up his chest, shuddering deliciously against him as their bodies slid over one another. "Sex can be mutually beneficial," she told him quietly; though, the way they were pressed together left no doubt as to his willingness.

"Today will serve its purpose, but...this can be the only time, Sirius." She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly. "Do you understand?"

He smirked and her spirits lifted. "Don't worry, Brown-Eyes -- I'll make sure it's unforgettable."

She laughed and the sound of it was melodic and uplifting. She was still laughing when Sirius Black took her against the wall of her bedroom at two in the afternoon.

* * *

It lasted for hours.

She never tired and he never stopped, both demanding and unwilling to rest. He called her 'beautiful' because she needed to hear it, and while they were in that room she loved him unconditionally, because _his_ need was also great.

The sun rose high in the sky and then began to sink, their coupling becoming more frantic as the day died – both racing against time and the ending of their solitude, desperate to escape forces they couldn't understand.


End file.
